


Views

by Duckay



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Casual Sex, Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckay/pseuds/Duckay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer insisted that Tyler join her and her other friends at a charity masquerade ball to celebrate her birthday, over his objections. He has a lot of problems with this idea, and doesn't expect to remotely enjoy the evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Objection

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a Tumblr prompt from vegan-ambreigns-luver85 - meeting at a masquerade ball AU for FaBreeze. At first I struggled but once an idea hit, it rather got away from me.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Tyler?”

Summer’s voice was shrill through the phone, and Tyler buried his face in his free hand. He probably should have known better than to answer the phone at all, but he received actual calls so infrequently that he'd assumed it must have been important. Obviously, he’d been wrong.

“What does what mean?”

Her irritated scoff through the phone didn't illuminate anything, but she didn't immediately give any explanation. He was on the brink of asking her again, or possibly just hanging up, when the words exploded out of her.

“You RSVPed no.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, even though she wasn't there to see it. “Then I probably meant no.”

“I get that, dumbass. Why did you say no?”

_ Dumbass _ was a bit offside given that she'd been the one to apparently fail to understand what a timely RSVP of ‘no’ meant. Not to mention a bit juvenile for a woman of her age. Tyler wisely decided that neither of those things would be considered a wise response.

“I have an ethical objection to that sort of thing. You know that.”

This time, her scoff was even louder and Tyler actually pulled the phone away from his ear in preparation to hang up, but thought better of it as he heard her speak, and dutifully raised the phone again.

“To what exactly, Tyler? To charity? Parties? Me having birthdays?”

“To  _ masquerades _ .” Disdain dripped from every syllable. “I don't  _ do  _ events where you can't see my face. And I'm not striking up conversation with anyone who doesn't have the decency to show me what they look like.”

“Tyler?” Summer’s voice was soft and sweet, and that was highly suspicious, in and of itself. “Have you ever considered that there might be value in learning how to judge people on things other than appearance?”

That was a stupid question.

“No.”

“ _ Tyler _ .”

He squirmed, even though she wasn't there to see his reaction.

“Stop saying my name.”

“You're coming.”

The call disconnected before he had a chance to say anything else. Tyler stared at the phone screen moodily for a moment, then tapped out a rather lengthy, unkind message in all caps. Then he erased the diatribe, and simply sent back a few simple words.

_ I'm not wearing a mask. _

* * *

 

Summer looked disapproving when she came to pick him up, but didn't say anything. At least, he suspected that the look was supposed to be disapproving. It was difficult to tell when most of her face was covered by feathers. The gaggle of girlfriends that overloaded the back of the limousine were not generally so respectful of his decision, but he stared at his phone screen resolutely rather than indulge their squawking.

“Tyler, you're being rude,” Summer hissed in his ear, as they started to pile out of the vehicle at their destination. Her freshly manicured nails dug into the skin of his wrist just hard enough to give him pause, just soft enough that he couldn't very well complain about it. “You shouldn't have come if you were just going to be on your phone all night.”

He opened his mouth to complain that was  _ exactly _ what his original plan had been, but by the time the words had begun to form, she'd already disappeared from his side and been whisked away by some giggly fool he wasn't sure he'd recognize even if they weren't mostly covered up.

They'd paid for a table for ten, and Tyler was fairly certain from past experience that would mean Summer, five or six of Summer's closest female friends, a boyfriend or two… And him. If being on his phone was intolerable to her in the limo, he was fairly sure it would be an even worse offense over dinner. There were other people there as well, table after table of strangers decked out in bright colours here to either support the charity or have a nice night out where no one had to look at them. That didn't seem like any kind of improvement.

What was the charity again? Had Summer even told him? Well, no point wondering. Someone would talk about it at length before the night was over.

“So how long have you two been seeing each other?” A voice trilled in Tyler’s ear as he awkwardly took a seat. The voice didn't sound familiar, but that didn't mean a lot. He didn't waste valuable memory space on most of Summer’s friends.

“Who?” He asked, distractedly. His fingers were itching for his phone again. Maybe he could get away with it if he pretended he was taking a picture of the centrepiece.

“You and  _ Summer _ , silly!” Either she'd been pre-drinking, or she was a level of obnoxious that surpassed most people Tyler knew. That was a worrying possibility.

“We’re not a couple.” His voice was weary, and a little guarded. Fingers closed around the phone in his pocket. It was coming out immediately if the girl next to him opened her mouth again.

She leaned in close, and laughed in his ear. Tyler's nose wrinkled; definitely pre-drinking. What fun.

Some words began to form beside him, and his phone was raised with the camera open before he had to pretend to be listening. The lighting was fairly harsh, so it took a little longer than he expected to find the perfect selfie angle. His hair was hanging kind of limply, and his lips curled into a displeased frown. Maybe he should have gone with the ponytail instead of the half-up style. It suited his face having his hair framing it, but only if his hair was in a mood to cooperate.

Some oaf on the other side of him had clearly not taken the hint, however. He smelled of cheap anti-perspirant, and hadn't done a thing with his hair despite it being almost as long as Tyler’s. He got about three words deep before Tyler shot to his feet, kicking the chair back under the table as he stepped away. No point offering an excuse, they'd figure it out.

Summer would probably have called his behaviour thus far hopelessly rude, but there was no call for actual legitimate rudeness. She was still on her feet, making conversation with someone Tyler couldn't have possibly hoped to recognize. He slipped an arm around Summer’s waist from behind, and laughed, really sincerely laughed, as she jumped in fright then turned around to smack him on the arm once she realized who was touching her.

“You want a drink? I'm buying.”

“It's an open bar.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. Well, fuck him for trying to be good, right? “I'm… delivering, then. Will you just let me be nice?”

“I don't trust you with nice,” Summer said with a soft laugh. It was totally uncalled for since she was probably the only person in the room halfway worth being nice to, but he couldn't exactly fault the logic. “You know what I drink. Thank you.”

The bar would at least take up enough of his time that maybe Summer’s other guests would have struck up conversations amongst themselves in his absence. As he walked away from Summer, he was fairly sure he heard the word ‘boyfriend’, and some far too indignant reply from his best friend. He'd have to have words with her about that later. Maybe it was about time to remind her that once upon a time she'd seen his appeal. It must have been a whole week since he’d last tortured her over that.

His fingers drummed on the bar impatiently. Tyler had caught the bartender’s eye, he knew he had, so it was baffling as well as irritating that he was still being made to wait. Sure, the guy’s hands were full, but that shouldn’t stop him from taking Tyler’s order even if he couldn’t actually fill it immediately. And was the other order really more important than his?

A shoulder brushed against him, and he pulled away from the contact immediately, though he didn’t bother to look up at the culprit.

“Do you mind? Don’t touch what you can’t afford.”

Of all reactions he’d expected, a deep laugh was not among them.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to.” The stranger’s voice sounded sincerely apologetic, so that eased Tyler’s irritation a little. Not a lot, but enough. “You’re not wearing a mask.”

It was a statement, not a question. Tyler finally glanced over at the other man, cocking an eyebrow. He was prepared to make some sarcastic comment about his observational skills, but something caught his eye that rather changed his direction.

“You’re not wearing a  _ shirt _ .”

That drew out another easy laugh, and Tyler couldn’t help but crack a little smile in return. A part of him kind of wanted to take the stranger by the wrist and drag him over to Summer as a physical demonstration of what he  _ could _ have done instead. He didn’t, though. That would probably be weird.

“Yeeah.” The man turned around to lean his elbows against the bar. Doing that arched his back just a little, highlighting the lines of his stomach muscles. “I figured if you can’t see my face, I’d better make sure there’s still a view to appreciate.”

Despite himself, Tyler snorted at that. “I preferred the direct approach.”

“Can’t blame you for that.”

Was that supposed to be flirting? Whether it was or not, there was no way to verify that his vanity was deserved, and talking to some masked figure who had been so forward as to touch him was breaking every one of Tyler’s rules, so he didn’t say anything. Instead, he raised his eyebrows slightly and turned away.

The bartender finally finished whatever concoction he’d been wasting his time with, and Tyler smoothly rattled off his order in one breath. Of course, the bartender had to ask him to repeat it, which he did, excruciatingly slowly. He could hear the masked, shirtless man laughing next to him again, a surprisingly pleasant sound that distracted a little from the roll of the bartender’s eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler could see that the shirtless man was still looking at him, head tilted to one side. Even if the mask was hiding something absolutely hideous, attention was attention, so Tyler permitted himself a small smile, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair back behind his ear.

“Having fun, there?” Tyler asked, as the bartender turned around to fix his drinks. He kept his voice light and easy, deliberately so.

“Does that bother you?” There was just a hint of challenge in the other man’s voice, and there was definitely no mistaking the flirtatious undertones this time. Then again, that probably didn’t mean much. The guy gave off a vibe like he flirted with anyone who crossed his path, just as a matter of course.

Tyler had to think for a moment before replying, and that hesitation was all it took before his drinks were handed to him, rather unceremoniously, with a bit of a scowl from the bartender. Good thing he hadn’t really been planning to leave a tip anyway. He flashed a smile at the stranger, then thought better of it and winked, just slightly more provocatively than he’d normally permit himself, before walking away.

It would certainly amount to nothing, but there was nothing wrong with finding a little harmless fun in such a dreadful night out.


	2. Pleasantries

Tyler thought he could feel eyes on him as he weaved through the crowd back to Summer. To an extent, that was understandable, because he was probably the only person in the room who wasn’t wearing a ridiculous mask, but there was more to it than that. He kind of hoped that one of the pairs of eyes was from the man at the bar, but he didn’t want to turn his head to look just in case he was wrong. Or worse, what if he was right, and the shirtless one noticed him look back? That would put them entirely on the wrong footing.

It was with a needlessly eager hand that Summer reached out to take her drink from him, swirling her straw through the liquid. There was a sparkle in her eye that was either deeply suspicious, or the reflection of a sequin.

“So, I leave you alone for two minutes, and you’re already chatting up shirtless men.”

It would have served Summer right to have her drink tipped up over her gorgeous dress for that comment, but Tyler would never forgive himself for leaving a stain. Or for ruining his friend’s birthday. That was also a consideration.

“Being chatted up  _ by _ shirtless men,” he corrected, a little lazily, taking a sip of his own drink.

Summer rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t comment on the distinction. “Did he explain why he was shirtless, by any chance?”

“Wants to be looked at.” Tyler shrugged, gesturing a little with the hand holding the drink. “I suppose. Those weren’t his exact words.”

There was a faint hint of judgement from beside him, but that wasn't worthy of comment. Summer’s default state was judgement. It was one of the things they had in common. As he watched Summer take a sip through her straw, though, his mouth quirked into a smile.

“How are you planning on eating dinner, exactly? Your mask is ridiculous.”

“I'll take it off while we eat,” she retorted, though her eyes were still tracking movement over near the bar. Tyler was fairly sure he knew what she was looking at, though he would rather die than ask. Maybe he should have said something a little more direct before walking off. Maybe he should have stayed and chatted a while longer.

“Why not go with one of those ones, you know, that just goes over your eyes and -”

“Tyler, you don't get to judge my mask choices. Not until you learn to play along.” A brief pause, for another sip, before she continued. “He's still looking this way now and then. Since you're just itching to know.”

“Don't be mean. I'm not itching to know anything.”

Summer’s evil little laugh was normally fun to listen to, but that was when it was directed at other people.

“If I was being mean, I’d make sure he saw me snuggle in with my hand on your ass.” Tyler swatted at her with his free hand, but she leaned out of reach, laughing all the louder. “Don't tempt me.”

“Just looking for an excuse to touch me, aren't you?” His heart wasn't really in the comment, but on principle, it needed saying. Summer’s shoulder bumped against him, in something like irritated affection. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, then sighed. “Alright. Is he looking, like, interested? Or just enjoying the view?”

“How should I know? He’s wearing a mask.” Tyler frowned a little, but Summer made a soft, humming noise in her throat before adding, “If I had to guess, I'd say curious, but not definitely interested.”

Tyler shrugged. Summer’s guesses were usually closer to the mark than they had any right to be, and if that trend continued… well, that was an acceptable answer. It was about all he could reasonably expect from 20 seconds of charm. A thank you very nearly formed on his lips, but he was cut off by a tiny brunette sliding in between himself and Summer, almost jostling the poco grande glass out of his hand. It was only quick reflexes and a natural distrust of anyone entering his personal space that saved it. A warning look from Summer stopped him saying anything unkind; apparently, this was another one he was  _ supposed _ to be able to recognize and forgive for minor slights.

She threw herself into Summer’s arms for a warm hug, and Tyler took that as his cue to return to his seat. It couldn’t possibly be that long before food started to roll out, and the night could get properly underway.

The master of ceremonies took his time about explaining the nature of the charity, something that went in one ear and out the other for Tyler, as dinner was brought out to the tables. His seat was something he could only describe as ‘mystery chicken’, but the warning kick under the table from Summer silenced any commentary he had on the subject. In theory, what he should have been doing was making pleasant conversation, but no one was talking to him and that was thrilling, so he wasn't about to ruin it for himself by opening his mouth.

After some consideration, he was able to choke down a few mouthfuls of the chicken, which wasn't quite as bad as he feared. Not that it was good, but Tyler had an unfortunately vivid imagination when it came to food.

Gradually, he became aware that someone was talking to him. Or, at least, he assumed that they were - Summer had kicked him again under the table and motioned her head towards the seat next to him. Tyler sort of wished she hadn't taken the mask off to eat, because she was a lot easier to ignore when he couldn't see her expression. He turned to the girl next to him, the one he’d mentally named ‘Pre-drinker’, and forced a small smile.

“Didn’t catch that?”

“I said, what do you do for a living?” She didn’t look the slightest bit upset at having been ignored. Maybe she hadn’t noticed.

“Oh. I model.”

She looked confused, for a moment, then her eyes lit up with understanding. “Oh! Oh, I can see that. You look like you’d be good at that.”

Tyler had absolutely no idea what to say to that, so he just nodded politely, forcing another mouthful of the chicken down to cover up his lack of inclination to say anything. He needn’t have bothered; she kept going anyway.

“So you’d have to be in, like, really good shape, huh? You look like you are. Do you go to the gym a lot?” One of her hands reached out and squeezed his upper arm lightly. Tyler closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe carefully, slowly, and count to three.

“Mmhm. Well, not a lot. But I keep in shape.”

“It’s working, whatever you’re doing.” She giggled, and even though Tyler wasn’t looking her way, he just knew from her tone of voice that she was fluttering her eyelashes at him. Her hand dropped to Tyler’s thigh, and he jerked away at the contact. God, save him from handsy drunks.

Summer cleared her throat loudly and shot a look across the table at the two of them. It wasn’t God, but it was appreciated anyway. 

“Honey, stop touching Tyler.” Her tone of voice was patient and soft, like she was talking to a rambunctious child. “He’s a misanthrope.” Okay, perhaps a rambunctious child with a large vocabulary.

“He’s a what?” The pre-drinker’s eyes were wide and confused.

“It means I don’t like people in my personal space.” For Summer’s sake, Tyler kept his voice as even as possible. He knew some irritation was seeping through, but judging from the understanding look in Summer’s eye, he’d managed at least to keep it to an acceptable level. He glanced sideways at the girl next to him. She looked reproachful, so he asked, a little wearily, “So, what do you do for a living?”

Tyler politely maintained a pretend interest in the conversation until a waiter came by to clear the table. He pushed his plate away, even though it was still quite full, nodding to the waitstaff. They didn’t bother asking him if there had been a problem with his food, which was a little disappointing, but no less than he’d expected.

It must have been at least thirty minutes since he’d last checked his phone. He could probably get away with at least a few minutes on social media without attracting too much ire.

The master of ceremonies cracked a few more bad jokes into the microphone. Tyler didn’t bother even pretending to listen. A band struck up, and there was a chorus of giggles from the table as, one by one, masks returned to faces and seats were emptied around him. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he looked up. Someone had spoken to him again, was standing next to him holding their hand out expectantly.

“Dancing counts as entering my personal space.” His lip quirked into a small smile. The pre-drinker (he was going to have to learn her name, even he was starting to think he was being a little unkind to her with that nickname) looked confused, and a little hurt, but he maintained the awkward eye contact until she dropped her hand and walked away.

Tyler idly scrolled through his feed. Nothing interesting was happening to anyone else, either, from the looks of things. Maybe he should try to spice up everyone’s evening a little with a picture - but then again, he hadn’t been happy with the selfie he’d taken earlier, and nothing would have changed in the past hour to make it any better.

He was the only one left at the table. Even the oaf on the other side of him had gotten up, even though Tyler was quite sure he couldn’t possibly be dancing. The floor might crack. Maybe he’d gone out for a cigarette, or to the bar. Bar. Actually, that didn’t sound like a terrible idea. Had someone asked him to stay there, though, and keep an eye on everyone’s possessions? He couldn’t remember anyone having spoken to him to ask him such a thing, but to be honest, that didn’t mean they hadn’t. After a few minutes of weighing up options, Tyler began to push his chair away from the table, when a movement beside him again caught his attention.

Someone had settled into the seat beside him, sideways in the chair. They were holding a margarita glass in one hand, proffering a poco grande glass with the other.

“I had a guess,” the shirtless man said. “It's nice to meet you.”


	3. Distraction

The offered drink was more or less what Tyler would have wanted, though a little more booze-forward than he preferred. That could have been the bartender being heavy-handed, or maybe it had been ordered extra strong. Either seemed plausible. It wasn't worth complaining about, though. He wasn't exactly going to refuse to drink it. A stranger had brought him a drink after 20 seconds of conversation and a provocative smile, so the least Tyler could do was accept.

“So what's your name?” Tyler asked, stretching his legs out under the table, and gaze drifting over the dancefloor. Partly because he was sort of curious where Summer had gotten herself to, and mostly because he didn't want to be caught staring at the man’s abs, which was probably what would end up happening if he happened to glance that way. Better to remove temptation entirely.

“Fandango.”

A sip of Tyler’s cocktail went up his nose as he completely failed to keep his composure. The resulting coughing and spluttering fit took a while to clear, even as the alleged Fandango patted him on the back to help things along. What a marvellous impression Tyler was making.

“That's not a name,” Tyler choked out, once he was able to speak again, wiping his face with a napkin. “You're not telling me that's your real, legal name.”

Fandango didn’t say anything, but when Tyler chanced a glance his way, he could see that he was smiling. The other upside of having been resolutely looking away was that at least Tyler hadn't spat his drink all over the man’s bare chest. That would probably have been impossible to recover from. As it was, it was difficult to gauge how much damage control the situation required. Chalk that up as reason 14 to disapprove of masquerades; non-verbal cues became a lot harder to read. Even perfectly chiseled abs like Fandango’s couldn't show emotion.

“I'm Tyler,” he said, after a pause that was slightly too long. After another, much shorter, pause, he remembered himself and offered his hand. Fandango shook it without hesitation. His grip was strong and firm, but as he withdrew, there seemed to be just a slight tremor of uncertainty, and he cleared his throat softly.

“That woman you were -”

“We’re not a couple.” Tyler tried to hold back the roll of his eyes, covering it up with another sip of his drink. It was pretty good, despite his initial disapproval.

“Good.”

That seemed like an odd response, but Tyler didn't particularly fancy speculating on what it meant. Either the man meant something by it or he didn't, and it would become apparent which was which sooner or later. He looked over at Fandango again. His shirtlessness had been distracting enough that Tyler hadn't really taken the time to assess his looks properly, before. A purple and gold mask covered from his hairline to his nose, but that didn't leave nothing to look at. He had nice hair, in addition to a nice body, and the line of his jaw was - well, without seeing the rest of his face, Tyler couldn't exactly say it was appealing, but it was a good start.

A flush rose in his cheeks as he realised Fandango was still talking, and he'd been completely ignoring it. Well, the colour he could blame on the alcohol and the harsh lighting, at least.

“...dragged you here, though?”

“It's her birthday.” Tyler had to just hazard a guess at the beginning of the sentence. Fandango didn't seem to think anything was odd about what he’d said, so Tyler went on. “And it's important to her that I be nice at least once a year. I take it you're not here by your own choice either?”

“No. Same boat, from the sounds of things.” He didn't elaborate, which was a bit of a shame. His voice made Tyler regret not listening more attentively to begin with.

Tyler made a soft noise of agreement, rather hoping that would prompt Fandango to keep talking. That didn't seem to have any effect, but Fandango was still looking at him. Intently, at that. It was borderline uncomfortable, because usually Tyler had an easy way to assess how he felt about being so blatantly looked at, and only being able to see the person from the mouth down was interfering with that system. Not knowing what else to say, Tyler took another sip of his drink. It was going down a little too easily, given how strong it tasted. He made a mental note to ease up.

“Is it good?” Fandango’s voice snapped Tyler out of his reverie again, and he glanced over again in confusion. Fandango nodded his head towards the glass in Tyler’s hand, still three-quarters full of the unnaturally coloured alcohol.

“It’s fine,” Tyler replied, swirling the liquid around the glass, just for something to do with his hands.

“Only fine?”

“I have high standards, I suppose.” It wasn’t the most polite thing to say, but either Fandango wasn’t offended, or he was concealing the offense beneath the hopelessly tacky mask. His comment had definitely earned a smirk, and that was probably a good sign.

“I have no problem with high standards.”

The words themselves weren’t particularly provocative - in fact, it was a nice sentiment - but if a voice could leer, Fandango’s was. Tyler permitted himself a small smile as he shifted his position in his chair. He picked up his drink again, then put it back down. No, he’d told himself to go easy.

“Then you’ll love me.” As the words fell from his lips, his smile turned into an outright grin. He didn't dare look over to see if his words were having the desired effect. If he was caught looking, that might throw the whole thing off-balance again.

“Confidence is even sexier.”

Tyler suppressed the laugh. There was no question, none at all; that was meant to be a come-on. The only way it could have been more blatant is if he'd outright suggested they sneak off to the cloakroom for a quick fuck between courses. Worse still, Tyler was starting to suspect that on the balance of it, he didn't mind so much. He still couldn't possibly let it be seen that he was melting to Fandango’s charm all that easily.

“Direct. But you don't think you're up to my standards, do you?”

That might have been the end of it, because Tyler knew his voice carried a finality and a challenge that would send most people on their way, and he could see Fandango shift out of the corner of his eye. A third voice entered the conversation, however, interrupting whatever Fandango might have said or done next. That was not part of the plan.

“Tyler, can - oh, hello, Tyler’s friend!”

The tiny brunette with a squeak attached to her voice hesitated as she leaned over the table, her eyes blatantly skating over Fandango’s shirtless figure. It was hard to blame her for that, but there was such a thing as subtlety. Granted, a man who went to formal events shirtless probably wasn't inclined to care about other people’s subtlety, but some people did.

“Hello to you, Tyler’s other friend,” Fandango replied, his voice warm and clearly filled with amusement.

“I don't mean to interrupt, I just…” Her voice faltered into a giggle, and Tyler was fairly sure she was blushing. Not that he could see her face properly, but he could practically hear the blush in her voice. “I just, um… can you pass me my purse?”

She leaned forward again to point, and it really wouldn't have killed her to walk around the table and get it herself, but Tyler also got the distinct impression that it wasn't what she had originally been planning to say at all. Fandango didn't seem to have noticed or be bothered, though. He was still smiling widely, and if Tyler wasn't very much mistaken, his eyes had flickered down to her neckline when she leaned forward.

Well, didn't that put Tyler in his place? He took a needlessly large gulp of his cocktail. The alcohol stung his throat, and he made a face. Perhaps it wasn't a heavy pour after all; it might just be badly mixed.

Fandango laughed, a deep, pleasant sound, but Tyler was no longer prepared to care. Wasn't it just his luck that the closest thing to interesting at the party would turn out to have no actual taste? Perhaps Tyler shouldn't have laughed so hard at his name. Perhaps he shouldn't have given the time of day to an outrageous flirt who was improperly dressed.

He could feel the grand sulk setting in, and Summer’s birthday wasn't enough to stop him from letting it.

By the time he realised that Fandango was still sitting next to him, and still trying to talk to him, his glass was empty. Tyler supposed it must have been pretty good after all, though he also suspected that he shouldn't try standing up too quickly. That was a problem, because dramatically swooping away from someone who wasn't even willing to finish trying to flirt with him before turning his attention to someone else rather relied on being able to get to his feet without stumbling. He could probably still manage it, but he didn't want to bank his reputation on ‘probably’.

Instead, he glanced over at Fandango. There was no problem meeting his eye without distraction now.

“She's gone now.” Tyler’s voice was icy, and he took some pleasure in noticing that.

“You're still here.”


	4. Offense

The liquor was to blame, that must be it. It was why he'd spoken to Fandango in the first place, why he'd ever introduced himself to him, and now why he wasn't leaving, even though it was plainly apparent that Fandango didn't deserve his interest.

The liquor, and the man’s distracting shirtlessness. That was the problem.

Fandango was still looking at him, and there was something expectant in his eyes. If Tyler had been completely sober, he knew what he would do, but he trusted neither his balance nor his tongue enough for that. Besides, where would he even dramatically storm off to? Options were a little thinner on the ground than he’d like. Where the hell was Summer? She was good at coming in for the save at times like these. Maybe it wasn't too late to pretend there was something between them after all. 

“Why does that concern you?” The pause before Tyler spoke was a little too long, and his voice was a little less sharp than he’d like. Still - did Fandango look hurt, or was that his imagination?

“Why do you think?” Fandango  _ sounded _ hurt, a little. More than Tyler expected, but less than he hoped. There was nothing to do but scoff at that question, in any case.

“Look, I'm sure someone here will go home with you, but -”

“But I'm here, talking to you.” Fandango cut him off mid-sentence, and that was hopelessly rude, but Tyler felt his mouth shut in surprise rather than try to keep talking over the top of him. It was the confidence in Fandango’s voice, that must be it. The hurt had vanished, and that dark, sultry undercurrent had returned.

When Tyler found his tongue, all that came out was, “Oh, really?” It was a stupid thing to say, because it was obvious and didn't really make that much sense, in context, but he couldn't very well take it back now. Fandango was silently smirking at him so Tyler tried to rearrange his features into a lazy smirk of his own.

Neither of them said anything for a long, lingering moment. Tyler didn’t mind the silence, particularly. It was a lot more pleasant than if Fandango had been, to take a completely random hypothetical, flirting with some girl. But still, he felt something more was expected of him, so he filled the silence by drumming his fingers on the table idly. The pads of his fingers made a pleasant drumming sound, occasionally broken by the clack of a nail tapping on the wood.

In his peripheral vision, Fandango slowly got to his feet. Graceful, but in a way that felt just a little bit forced to Tyler, like he was trying to make a show of it. Whatever he did, Tyler told himself, he wasn’t going to say anything or ask him where he was going or try to stop him. If he was going to walk away from Tyler Breeze, that was his own damn problem.

Fandango raised his arms up and stretched, catlike. His abdominal muscles rippled, and Tyler made a point of turning his head to look over the dancefloor, so he couldn't see Fandango even slightly. Finally, he made eye contact with Summer Rae, and smiled at her. She looked back at him for a moment, and he saw her eyes flicker very briefly over Fandango (probably over Fandango’s body, to be specific), before looking back at him, her head tilting in a silent question. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he shook his head, just a tiny motion that he hoped Summer would read correctly and Fandango wouldn’t.

“Do you want another drink?”

The sound of Fandango’s voice surprised Tyler enough that he gave up the pretense and glanced back over at him.

“No.”

“Don’t trust yourself?”

That was the kind of comment that was supposed to make Tyler bristle, of course. A smile still played at Fandango’s lips, but there was a faintly unkind, lecherous tilt to it. He was supposed to say something like ‘of course I do’ and then Fandango would say ‘so have another drink, then’ and then Tyler would be licking whipped cream off his six-pack in the men’s room before dessert had been cleared off the tables.

Not that Tyler was thinking about anything that filthy and specific.

It was probably canned whipped faux-cream, something cloyingly sweet that hung around on his tongue like plastic.

“I don’t want to subject my tastebuds to that.” The cocktail. He meant the terrible cocktail. Of course. 

“Then I can bring you something else. What do you fancy?”

He didn’t even miss a beat. Perhaps Fandango was a little sharper than Tyler had given him credit for. Probably not, though. He was probably just experienced at this kind of game; the way he acted definitely spoke to that. Unfortunately, the two cocktails had worked their magic, and Tyler hesitated just a fraction too long before forming a reply. Fandango’s eyes flashed with something like victory, just for a moment.

“Something sweet, then.”

It looked for a moment like Fandango might have something to say to that, some leering double-entendre perhaps, but he kept it to himself as he flashed a smile and turned to walk away. At first, Tyler appreciated the restraint, but as a hand lightly brushed over his shoulder, his mouth twisted into a grimace and he realized the probable reason for it.

“I don’t know if you want me to save you or book you two a room.” Summer flopped into the seat beside him - on the other side from where Fandango had been sitting. Her voice came with just a hint of breathlessness from exertion. Tyler swatted at her arm, but it was half-hearted at best. He wasn't really paying her much mind anyway; his head had turned to follow Fandango's movement as he left, lest he still be close enough to hear Summer's rudeness. It wasn't much of a hardship. Fandango's retreating figure was also a fairly pleasant view. Beside him, Summer cleared her throat and snapped her fingers, and his head snapped back around to her. 

“He’s such a lech.” He tried to put as much scathing dismissal into his tone as he could, but he knew it fell short.

“Really? The shirtless man? I’m shocked.”

“Don’t be like that.”

Summer fanned at herself with a napkin idly. “Is that not the basis of his appeal? Good grief, Tyler, you weren’t expecting thrilling conversation out of him, were you?”

“No.”

Under another circumstance, Tyler would have liked to think there was a hint of understanding in Summer’s eye, but he was pretty sure that it was just alcohol and judgement. What fun. Still, she lapsed into a friendly silence, reaching out to pat his upper arm. It was a comforting gesture, even if none of it reached her eyes.

“Imagine I said something profound,” she said, with a slight eyeroll. “I’ve done it enough times, you know the drill.”

“Oh, leave it alone, won’t you?”

That was the first and only reason to approve of masquerade balls; he didn’t have to see Summer pretending to look terribly affronted.

“You’ll have to make a move fast. He’s going to have to go back to his own table for dessert. He’s not taking a seat away from one of my guests.”

Tyler muttered something back, something noncommittal, and Summer just got to her feet without another word. He probably had been a little too rude to her; he’d have to buy her something pretty to make it up to her. Well, that was something to worry about in the future. The present was a whole other ballgame.


	5. Apology

Loath though he was to admit it, the dessert course was actually not terrible. It tasted at least like it was made with fresh ingredients, not something out of a can. Of course, it would have been nicer still if Fandango had delivered on his offer of ‘something sweet’, but he'd probably been distracted by something shiny. Or low-cut. Tyler wasn't going to lower himself to actually looking around to see where he'd got to.

Not looking meant that he had to pay attention to his own table, which wasn't really an improvement. The open bar meant that now everyone was just as obnoxious as the pre-drinker had been at the start of the night, with now the added bonus that they knew he was an asshole so everyone kept giving him the side-eye, so he had to tolerate their conversations while not participating in them.

Most of them, anyway. The tiny brunette had been eying him ever since they all sat down again. Her mask, some sort of terrible feathered concoction, had been pushed up on top of her head. It might not have been so bad if the elastic hadn't caught on her hair, making it stick out awkwardly and probably woefully damaging her hair, and two of the smaller feathers had split in half and were dangling loosely.

“There something on my face?” He asked, flatly, once he'd finished his tart and had no other reasonable way to keep ignoring her.

She hastily averted her eyes at his words, as though she'd only just realised she had food on her plate and it was more interesting than Tyler’s gorgeous face. There was an obvious flaw in that logic; her embarrassment was transparent.

Across the table, Summer shot him a look, and he just shrugged in return. Why was he supposed to know why people were being weird around him? That was their business, not his. After a few more moments, Summer heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Yes, Tyler has already laid claim to His Royal Shirtlessness.” Tyler opened his mouth to complain, to protest that he'd done no such thing, but Summer silenced him with a wave of her hand. “You can have him when he’s done. Now leave the guy alone.”

Tyler’s scowl almost broke all the way into a snarl at those words, but he bit it back just in time. A certain amount of friendly teasing was par for the course with someone like Summer, and he could never have tolerated her friendship so many years if he'd been too thin-skinned to tolerate that. Still, that seemed like it was just a shade too far.

Summer caught his eye, and blew him a kiss. The chair actually toppled over with how quickly he stood up, and he hesitated for a fraction - should he at least have the decency to pick it up?

No. There were people for that.

Only once he'd made his way to the men’s room door did he consider that he'd probably overreacted. Summer had been, well, utterly unnecessary, but it was a bad sign that Fandango had apparently gotten under his skin deeply enough that he was going to have a little baby tantrum over him.

Did that mean he owed Summer an apology? He hoped not.

His reflection in the mirror didn't seem thrilled, either. Oh, of course, he was still thoroughly gorgeous, even though the flickering fluorescent light was in no way flattering. It might have helped to splash some cold water on his face - but why risk ruining perfection?

Unfortunately, his little outburst, silent though it was, meant that he'd have to put on the whole sheepish, penitent face if he was going to go back to the table, and he really, really didn't want to have to face Summer like that in front of company. He could, of course, try sitting down like nothing happened, but that was only going to make Summer arc up harder at him, though probably at a later date, and having that hanging over him was even worse. Not knowing what else to do, Tyler shuffled himself into a corner and pulled his phone out again. Even with battery saver mode, his phone just couldn't keep up with him staring at it for the rest of the night, so that wasn't a long-term solution either.

A warmth and weight slid in behind him, and his whole body tensed, like he was a snake poised to strike. Summer’s name automatically rose to his lips, because surely she was the only person who would  _ dare _ to invade his space like that, but that didn't seem right. The presence behind him was taller, broader than Summer.

Another possibility sprung to mind. Maybe there were two people at this godforsaken ball dumb enough to sneak up on him.

“Fandango?!” Tyler didn't bother to keep his voice level. As he whirled around, Fandango was grinning widely at him.

“You remembered.”

“Did I give you permission to touch me?”

Fandango looked, for a moment, like he was genuinely giving it thought. He was also still too close to Tyler, still in his space, but Tyler didn't move. Partly because the smell of Fandango’s cologne, at this distance, was insinuating itself deep into Tyler’s bones in a very pleasant way, and mostly because he’d be damned if he, Tyler Breeze, was going to move or shy away because some ill-mannered, mask-wearing idiot didn't know better than to stand too close.

“Tell me to go away, then.”

And what sort of low-grade pick-up artistry was that? The parts of Fandango’s face that he could see looked faintly smug, like he couldn't even conceive of the idea that someone would want him to leave. Probably the rest of his face was hideously disfigured, or something, which was why he had to resort to such cheap tricks to get laid.

Then again, he did pick the best option in the room. Maybe he just really fancied the challenge.

“Back up a step,” Tyler said, as evenly as he could, though there was still a dangerous note in his voice. For a moment, Fandango’s lip quirked into a small smile, before he stepped back to a comfortable distance. Actually, slightly more than what most people would call comfortable, which made it nearly perfect for Tyler. Some of the tension in Tyler's muscle began to fade.

“Sorry I never brought you that sweet treat. I got called away.”

“What was more important?” It wasn't like he was going to bend to Fandango’s charm, but he couldn't keep the flirtatious lilt out of his voice. His tongue snaked out to moisten his lips slightly, though he couldn't have really explained why he did it. Dangling himself in front of the man, perhaps.

“Not  _ more _ important,” Fandango corrected, his voice soft. He was still leaning forward, like he was trying to be as close to Tyler without invading his space. It was interesting. “But you know what family is like, don’t you?”

Tyler made a non-committal sound. Family was a complicated subject that he had a great many opinions on, few of which were suitable for public discussion. In any case, it didn’t matter; Fandango wasn’t finished talking, and if there was any voice Tyler would rather hear than his own, it was probably that one. Every syllable sounded like someone was playing music down his spine.

He had to stop thinking such disgustingly poetic things about the man. Tyler had to remind himself he was still angry with him.

“Can I still tempt you, Tyler?”

“I’ve had my fill of sweet.”

“Is that what I meant?”

His name sounded utterly gorgeous on the man’s tongue, which made Tyler want to make him say it again. There were a few contexts and cadences that sounded awfully promising.

Damn it, he was going to have to admit that he was interested, wasn’t he?

If that was even remotely possible, and he wasn’t saying that it was, but it might be, well, Tyler could surely play Fandango’s game at least as well as he did. He leaned forward just a fraction, to match his pose, and dipped his head to peek up at Fandango a little more suggestively.

“In that case, the answer is… not that easily.” His lip curled into a slow smile as he watched for a reaction. It was hard to tell how effective the move had been. Masquerades should be made illegal, punishable by great suffering. Fandango’s laugh was deep and appreciative, which was promising, but by no means definitive.

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes, either.”

Fandango leaned forward another inch or two, and Tyler’s heart began to pound heavily in his chest. Surely he wasn’t actually going to be so bold as to -

“It’s a good start,” Fandango whispered, his voice low enough that Tyler could only just hear him, and Tyler couldn’t help but feel both a little relieved and disappointed. He would have been utterly furious if Fandango had been so bold and so disrespectful, but he couldn’t deny that the thought of kissing him, once he’d been given reason to think about it, wasn’t all that bad. If he was properly asked first, at least.

Something must have been present in his eyes, though; some of that emotion, because Fandango was looking at him a little strangely, a small smile playing at his lips. Then, Fandango’s head tilted slightly to the side, and the tip of his pink tongue traced a line over his lower lip. He wasn’t exactly leaning in, but he was there, and tempting, and there was a little flash in his eyes and a curve to his lip that seemed to say that he knew what Tyler had been thinking.

Tyler took a half-step forward, to close some of the distance between them again. Fandango didn’t seem put off, didn’t lean back or retreat. More importantly, he no longer looked mildly smug. His lips parted slightly with a breath of surprise, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t question or protest or make some ridiculous, lecherous remark.

That was enough to convince Tyler that it might be okay to close the distance between them completely.


	6. Accepting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assume there's only going to be one more chapter after this. Hope you've enjoyed!

All thoughts of playing around, of putting on a show of being unaffected, left Tyler’s mind as his eyes fluttered closed and their lips touched for the first time. It was slow, careful, at first, but as Tyler drew his body in further, he felt the man respond. An arm slid around his waist; not pulling him in any closer, but holding him there. There was a hint of something sweet and a little intoxicating on his tongue, and Tyler could not possibly resist the urge to rest his hand flat against Fandango’s exposed stomach, skating gently across the firm muscles there. This drew a soft sound out of Fandango, and the arm wrapped around Tyler’s waist pulled a little tighter as he sucked for just a moment at Tyler’s lower lip.

Tyler couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so drawn in by a kiss. Even if he could feel the pressure of the ridiculous mask against his face. Even if he still couldn’t believe what he was doing.

When Fandango pulled away from the kiss, Tyler automatically leaned forward, chasing his mouth. The second contact was more intense, if that was possible, Fandango guiding him backwards so he was against the wall. Fingers digging in at Fandango’s waist. Bodies pressed tightly together. A hot mouth absolutely devouring his, and…

Oh, it wasn’t Tyler’s imagination. He could definitely feel Fandango stirring against him.

That thought sent a brief spark through Tyler, cutting through the lust and distraction. Given the opportunity, he’d probably keep kissing Fandango all day, but…

Tyler tilted his head back, breaking the kiss. His breathing was coming hard and sharp, though it was at least of some comfort to notice that Fandango wasn’t any less breathless. Kissing a stranger, well, that was something that happened when you were bored at a charity function with an open bar. One of those strange indiscretions you laughed at over brunch the next day, or vehemently denied ever happening. But if Fandango wanted, or expected, something more? No. Not here. Not in the men’s room. Not if he still couldn’t see his face.

For one bizarre moment, Tyler wondered what would happen if he just gently pushed Fandango away and walked out without saying anything. He didn't particularly want to, but imagining poor Fandango’s reaction made him laugh, giddy, in his throat.

“What?” Fandango asked, confused. Tyler wasn't sure if he meant Tyler pulling away or Tyler laughing at, apparently, nothing.

“Nothing,” Tyler said. That was an answer that worked either way.

To his credit, Fandango didn't actually argue, even though he made a soft noise of disappointment. His hands had dropped to rest on Tyler’s hips, one thumb stroking at his hipbone through his trousers. Given that Tyler hadn't been able to bring himself to take his hand off Fandango’s stomach, he had to suppose that was fair enough.

The door swung open, and without even stopping to think about what he was doing, Tyler jumped, hands flying away from Fandango. The man looked at the two of them anyway, for a long moment. There was probably a lot of suspicion, if nothing else, behind the mask. Even if he hadn't seen the embrace, he was probably wondering. Tyler didn't care to find out, just shot his most withering look back and turned to sweep out of the room. The warm presence behind him told him that Fandango was following closely.

Surely there must be somewhere marginally more appropriate. Somewhere uggos weren’t going to be barging in every few moments for a piss, at the very least. Almost automatically, Tyler quickly scanned the room as he walked back in. Summer was distracted, a cocktail glass in one hand, deep in conversation with someone or other. Not paying him any attention. Not likely to leap on him for his bad behaviour.

Eventually, Tyler stepped outside, slowing just enough to hold the door behind him for Fandango. If he was still following. Tyler hadn't turned his head to make sure. There were a few figures smoking cigarettes and talking, but a shadowed doorway gave them at least the semblance of privacy.

Face to masked face in the shadows, Tyler felt his heart start to beat faster again. Fandango wasn't saying anything, but then again, neither was Tyler. Not knowing what else to say, or do, Tyler leaned forward for another kiss, softer, more teasing. It could have lasted all night and he wouldn't have known the difference. Lips and tongues moving in gentle synchronicity, an almost playful scrape of teeth over Fandango’s lower lip. One of Fandango’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Tyler’s trousers, and even though it wasn't really going too far, it reminded Tyler enough of why he'd stopped the kiss in the first place, and he pulled back with a sharp exhale. Fandango leaned forward, pressing his head against Tyler’s, and Tyler wrinkled his nose a little at the feel of the glittered mask, rough against his forehead.

“Do you know what I want to do to you?” Fandango’s voice was hoarse in his ear, sending another warm shiver up Tyler’s spine.

“I have  _ some _ idea,” Tyler murmured back, rocking his hips forward, just a small, teasing motion. Even in the shadows, he saw a hint of a smile.

“Tyler,” Fandango began, and Tyler held his breath. This was probably it. “Are you coming back to my hotel room tonight?”

It wasn't hard to notice the confidence in those words. Not ‘do you want to’, or ‘I want you to’, but ‘are you’. Like there was no question that Tyler wanted, it was just a matter of whether he was going to act on it. Rather than answer directly, Tyler pressed their lips together for another fleeting kiss, before he spoke.

“How many times have you been turned down tonight?”

Fandango hesitated, for a second, before answering. When he did speak, however, his voice was confident.

“Once, if that’s you turning me down.”

Tyler cocked an eyebrow, with a faintly disbelieving scoff, but leaned his body forward against Fandango’s anyway. Every inch of muscle he could see and feel was wonderfully chiselled, and, on the balance of things, he really wouldn't mind spending hours at a time just pressed up against him. Provided he could keep his attention where it was deserved.

“So you didn't flirt with anyone else tonight?”

“Flirt?” Fandango echoed, pressing his lips just beneath Tyler’s ear to punctuate the question. “Sure. But you're the one I want to go home with.”

Tyler tried to make a grumbling noise of disapproval, but the lips and breath tickling at his jaw and neck were distracting enough that it came out more than a little insincere. Still, he raised both hands to Fandango’s shoulders, pushing him back slightly to consider him properly.

Did he want to? Yes. Was he going to?

“What hotel are you staying at?”

It wasn’t really possibly to discreetly pull out his phone to Google the name, and Tyler didn’t really put much effort into trying. Fandango’s head tilted to see the screen, and though he began to say something, Tyler made a quiet shushing noise that left him quiet. That made his lip quirk, pleased. Sure, his judgement might have been a little clouded by a sexy voice and chiseled muscles, but at least he was having an effect of his own in turn. Fandango didn’t seem like someone who was easily shushed.

It wasn’t the nicest place Tyler had ever seen, but it was comfortably five-star, so after a certain amount of lip pursing, he nodded to himself. When he glanced up, Fandango was smiling.

“Is that a yes?”

Tyler smirked back. A little unkindly, a little theatrically. “There’s one thing I have to do first.”

“Tell the birthday girl you’re leaving?”

Tyler shook his head, raising his hand to pull Fandango’s mask away.


	7. Finality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the final chapter! As the tags and updated rating have no doubt indicated, this chapter does contain explicit sexual content, so do be advised if you object to that.

Despite the desire to keep people out of his personal space, despite his complete lack of interest in a long-term relationship, Tyler was not unfamiliar with one-night stands. Sometimes people caught his attention, and he wasn't about to be ashamed of himself for wanting to act on that. It was just that he didn't want them expecting anything from him afterwards, and he certainly didn't want anyone who wasn't on his level to get any bright ideas about approaching him.

His hand shook as he unhooked the elastic holding the mask from the back of Fandango’s head. Going back to some stranger's hotel room was one thing, but making the decision to do so without even seeing their face was uncharted territory. Before he’d even managed to pull the mask away, a rejection leapt to his lips. Something cruel and dismissive, it’s almost cute that you thought you had a chance, perhaps, or else light and lilting, you didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you…

Instead, he bit his tongue until Fandango’s face was in view, when he let out a slow breath.

“Okay, let’s go.”

It was something of an affront that Fandango had motioned to a taxicab instead of some more suitable vehicle, but one lapse in judgement was forgivable, provided it was the last for the night. Fandango’s hand had drifted to Tyler’s thigh in the backseat as they set off, but Tyler shrugged it away; he wasn’t going to stoop quite that low. The driver was some hideous beast who definitely wasn’t getting anything like a free show.

Besides, it occurred that there was something he still had to do.

Tyler raised his phone, and cued the camera; for once, not aimed at his own face. Fandango raised an eyebrow as he realized what Tyler was doing, but didn’t verbally object until Tyler had already hit ‘send’.

“What was that for?”

“Just making sure someone knows who whisked me away. Who knows what you might do to me if no one knew where I was.”

Fandango laughed easily, which came as no surprise, but it made Tyler laugh too, relaxing enough to at least reach out to touch his bicep lightly. His arms were quite nice, too; not as nice as his chest and stomach, but still breaking into his top ten features.

His phone chimed with a message, and Tyler instinctively angled the screen away from Fandango to read Summer’s reply.

_ Good jaw, nice eyes. 9/10. _

_ I don’t go home with anyone less than a 10. _

_ Get out of his car and come back then. _

_ I’m in a taxi.... _

_ God you are desperate aren’t you?? _

That wasn’t even worth replying to, so Tyler locked his phone and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. Fandango was looking at him. Not in the way that people often looked at him, with equal parts awe and jealousy, but like he wanted to ask but wasn’t going to stoop so low. It was a look Tyler was sadly familiar with.

He wasn’t about to volunteer the information, so he just met his eye with a small smile, a promise of what the night might bring shining in his eyes.

Fandango’s hand settled on the small of his back as they made their way into the hotel and up the several stories to his room. Even in the privacy of the elevator, though he stood closely, he didn’t try to initiate anything more intimate. They didn’t say much, but what was there to say?

Actually, come to that, they hadn’t really spoken much all night. Not about anything that wasn’t flirting or shirtlessness, in any case. That was probably good. If Fandango tried to talk about his personal life, he might inadvertently say something off-putting, and he was too attractive to want to miss out on, but not quite attractive enough that it would be worth powering through too long a list of terrible traits.

Once the room door swung shut behind them, Fandango opened his mouth to say something. Judging from the way he raised his hand to gesture, he was probably going to offer him a drink or something. Tyler silenced him with another kiss, arm latching around his shoulders and body drawing in close. There was no need for pretense. They both knew exactly what they were there for. Who were they trying to impress?

Fandango went with it eagerly, his hands sliding up the inside of Tyler’s jacket and across his back. Within moments, Tyler realised he was being led backwards, the strong hands tugging at his silk shirt and untucking it. As the back of his knees hit the bed, Tyler shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it aside - it didn't matter if it ended up crumpled, he could always buy another - before his hands set about exploring Fandango’s body more thoroughly. A shiver made his body tremble at the touch of Fandango’s hands against the bare skin of his back, then stomach, surprisingly soft, given that he was being kissed like Fandango might never have another again in his life.

They toppled onto the bed together, Tyler’s shoulders down, and Tyler gasped against Fandango’s mouth as he felt fingers tugging at his shirt buttons, felt knees settle in on either side of his lower body. Fandango pulled back a few inches, possibly to see what he was doing, and a smile crept across his kiss-swollen lips.

“You're gorgeous,” he murmured, his already deep and suggestive voice further rough with lust.

“I know,” Tyler whispered back, almost automatically. He felt something more was expected of him, and it didn't seem all that troublesome to offer it, so a moment later, he added, “Fuck, but you're gorgeous too.”

“I know.”

There was a hint of amusement in Fandango’s eyes, but it was not visible for long as his head dipped to trail kisses down Tyler’s throat and bared chest. Adept fingers pulled his belt away, and tossed it to the side carelessly. A part of Tyler wanted to just tilt his head back, let his body be handled and worshipped and revel in the sensation of another man taking control, but a nagging thought insinuated into his mind and, a little reluctantly, he raised himself onto one elbow and pushed Fandango’s shoulder back with one hand.

“I have a shoot in two days.” He tried to sound serious, but they weren't instructions he wanted to give; it was difficult to make it sound compelling. “You can't leave a mark.”

Fandango seemed to hesitate in sincere confusion. “You have a what?”

“A shoot,” Tyler repeated, sitting up further. “A photoshoot.” Important context still seemed to be missing, judging from the blank look he was getting, so he added, “That’s what I do, and yes they can cover it up but I don't want to expl - look, just don't leave a mark, okay?”

Fandango still looked amused, and sort of puzzled, but he nodded anyway before dropping his head down again to trace lines with the tip of his tongue across Tyler’s chest. Tyler’s eyes drifted shut and he relaxed against the mattress, humming approvingly at the sensation. Hands explored the lines of his body, soft at first, then firmer, rougher, and Tyler led Fandango with his voice down all the avenues he knew he loved most.

“Incredible,” he heard Fandango’s murmur, the soft breath brushing his stomach. “Your body is amazing. You should have been shirtless tonight too.” Then, a tight squeeze of his hips, and Tyler’s eyes fluttered open just as Fandango’s head tilted up. He was smirking, which was becoming very familiar. “But tonight this is just for me.”

The smile that crept across Tyler’s lips at those possessive words was in no way intentional, but he let it remain anyway. In any case, Fandango was working on undoing his trousers, which was a more than worthy distraction. As his fingers stroked softly just under his waistband, tantalizingly close to where his hard cock was throbbing for attention, Tyler felt him hesitate.

No, not hesitate. There was no sign of uncertainty in his face. He was waiting to gauge Tyler’s response.

Tyler rolled his hips up into the touch, coaxing, inviting, as he reached with one hand for the back of Fandango’s head, pulling him close for another searing kiss. Heat blossomed deep in his body as his trousers and underwear were tugged down, and he kicked them away. If there was a way to do that without looking awkward, Tyler didn’t know what it was, but Fandango didn’t seem to either notice or care. His hands were working a path back up from his thighs, over his hips and up his stomach again. Exploring. Learning.

“I have no idea why you’d cover that face up,” Tyler gasped, as Fandango pulled back and filled his field of vision for a moment. That had to be reason 17 for disapproving of masquerade balls. What non-Tyler beauty was the world being denied?

“Which do you like better?”

One of Fandango’s hands took a hold of Tyler’s wrist, guiding it from where it was laying on the bed back to his stomach. It was a near thing, but Tyler managed to not roll his eyes at that question. Still, he wasn’t simply going to settle for being spoken to like that, so he pushed upwards from the bed, kissing Fandango hard and deep again, but guiding him to reverse their positions so Fandango was laying against the pillows.

“I guess I have to see all of you to decide.”

He was almost surprised to hear how his own voice sounded; it had been a long time since he’d heard himself sound so raw and needy while trying to command attention. He drew back to sit up straight, looking down at the man laid out before him. To hide the shake of his hands, he slipped the unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders, then tugged the elastic from where it was holding half his hair back, and pulled the whole mop into a low ponytail instead. It wasn’t nearly as perfectly styled as it had been, but Fandango’s mouth opened in a soft gasp and Tyler internally preened at the implied compliment.

His hands dropped to work on freeing Fandango from his trousers, or at least that was the intention. He got rather distracted as the heel of his hand brushed over Fandango’s hardness, and couldn’t help himself but to repeat the motion slowly and deliberately. Not only did the feeling send a throbbing lust through him, but Fandango tilted his head back at the contact and bit at his own lip and that made Tyler feel all kinds of pleasant things.

After perhaps just one too many, Fandango shot up to a sitting position, hand cradling the side of Tyler’s neck with fingers just sliding against his ponytail, tugging him close for a fierce kiss. His other hand clumsily, distractedly, set to work on his trousers himself.

“Don’t tease,” Fandango murmured, between kisses. “Please.” His hand dropped again Tyler’s body again, thumb circling his hipbone, then down further, hand curling around his thigh. “On your knees, Tyler?”

The sound of Fandango saying his name made anything seem like a brilliant idea, and an affirmation almost fell from Tyler’s lips. He just barely had the presence of mind to stop himself, to shake his head. Firm muscles rippled under his eager hands, and it was difficult to draw himself away enough to speak.

“Want to see you,” he finally managed, fingers clutching at Fandango’s back muscles. “Want to see your face.”

It was hard to stick to that when Fandango’s hand slid around his thigh and up to cup his ass, as hot kisses left a fire in their wake, as he felt the electricity of their erections brushing together. If Fandango asked again, Tyler would have assumed any position he wanted. Instead, Tyler felt Fandango’s firm hands push him down again onto his back. He was grinning positively wickedly.

“Can’t deny you that.”

For a terrible moment, Tyler was left cold as Fandango slid off the bed to rummage through his weekender bag. Sure as he was that he’d approve of the reason why, he permitted himself a small sulk at the loss of contact. It faded fast as Fandango leaned over him again, braced on one elbow as his knee gently coaxed Tyler’s legs further apart. Tyler pulled his face in close for another series of warm kisses as he felt himself being filled, prepared, worshipped.

It felt like both an age and no time at all before Tyler felt Fandango sink into him properly, his legs hitched up on the taller man’s shoulders. The intensity in Fandango’s eyes sent a thrill through Tyler matched only by the sensation of his hips rocking, driving that hard cock into him. As Fandango leaned his weight forward a little more, Tyler pivoted his hips a little more almost instinctively, and completely failed to stifle the cry as the new angle struck him just right and his hands twisted into the sheets beneath them.

Fandango’s orgasm shuddered through him, with one final deep thrust that hit Tyler’s prostate perfectly. As Tyler’s legs slid off his shoulders, he snaked a hand between them and around Tyler’s cock. It didn’t take long before Tyler was moaning and whimpering underneath him, thick fluid staining his stomach.

Their lips brushed again softly, in something almost like thanks, before they untangled themselves. Tyler moved immediately towards the bathroom, even though his legs shook a little. As he opened the door, he turned back a moment; Fandango had thrown the condom in the wastepaper bin, and was gathering Tyler’s clothes into a neat pile.

Tyler wondered if he should have said something, but there didn’t seem to be a lot to say.

Once he’d finished in the shower, his hair gathered into a neat bun, he faintly expected that Fandango might have already fallen asleep. As he padded back into the bedroom, wrapped in one of the hotel towels, Fandango seemed to still be awake, but was already in bed.

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

Tyler hesitated at the question. He’d just been reaching for his clothes to get dressed again, and Fandango’s question made him jump, just slightly. He hadn’t expected to be spoken to, except perhaps a polite explanation that Fandango had called him a cab or something along those lines. He turned to look at the other man, head tilted a little quizzically.

“Just home.”

Fandango shrugged. “You’re welcome to stay. You don’t have to race off on my account.”

That gave him pause. The shower had helped a little, but there was exhaustion creeping in his bones, so staying the night didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. It was sort of breaking his rules, but then again, it had been a night for rule-breaking.

“Alright,” Tyler murmured, though his voice was still guarded, sitting down beside Fandango on the bed. Fandango heaved a sigh, tugging Tyler by the arm down beside him, and throwing the heavy blanket over him.

“It’s not a trick, I’m not trying to trap you into anything, it’s just late and there’s no need to rush off.” Fandango’s voice was less pleasantly sultry and more faintly exasperated with Tyler, but there was still a hint of amusement and a pleasant little quirk to his lip that Tyler… well, he could handle having to look at it and hear it for a little longer.

Only a little, though.

Fandango didn’t try to cuddle him or pull him in tightly, but nor did he seem to be actively avoiding contact. It was close, but not pushy.

Come morning, Tyler would leave and they would probably never see each other again. He wasn’t going to lower himself so much as to ask if they could, but he did take a little private pleasure in knowing that ‘probably’ was not quite the same as ‘absolutely’.


End file.
